


crush

by juliusschmidt



Series: Last Best Option Universe [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Famous Harry, Fuckbuddies, Jealousy, M/M, Non-Famous Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-20 07:12:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9480632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliusschmidt/pseuds/juliusschmidt
Summary: Harry introduces Louis to an old crush of Louis'.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the 'last best option' universe hosted mostly on tumblr, but, as with each fic in the 'verse, this can be read alone. Check out the masterpost ([here](http://juliusschmidt.tumblr.com/post/155731617755/harry-skyrockets-to-popstar-fame-through-his)) for the other fic listed in chronological order.

Harry’s hair tickles the tips of Louis’ fingers. It’s fluffy tonight, like he’d washed it earlier in the day and rushed out without throwing any product into it. Louis itches with the temptation to investigate further. 

But they’re out with Harry’s friends, piled onto an ‘L’ shaped couch in a roped off section of the club, and Harry’s been texting enthusiastic and encouraging comments to Louis about the outing for four days straight. 

Louis does not want to fuck it up.

Harry’s been in the public eye rubbing shoulders with all kinds of A Listers and grinding up against all kinds of C and D Listers for nearly a year now and this is the first time he’s invited Louis out with his new crew. 

Louis should be learning everyone’s name, asking about their careers maybe, but instead he’s hyperfocused on the heat of Harry’s body against his side and the brush of Harry’s hair against his fingers and forearm. 

“Love your shirt,” someone says, pulling at Louis’ sleeve. 

Louis glances down at the lion emblazoned across his front. Harry’d purchased it for him from a vintage shop in the States. At first, he’d been a little put off, both by the dirty feeling that settles over him whenever Harry buys him things and by the shirt’s bold irony- Harry’s turned into a fucking _hipster_ of late- but he’d warmed to thing after seeing Harry’s soft expression when he’d tried it on. 

Into Louis’ ear, Harry murmurs, “I told you it was stylish.” 

Louis tugs on one of his curls, hard, and he squirms. 

“Well, would you look at who finally decided to grace us with his presence!” One of the women is standing to wrap her arms around a new arrival.

“That’s Nick Grimshaw,” Harry tells Louis as if he wouldn’t be able to pick the slightly uneven jut of Grimmy’s shoulders out of a crowd. 

Louis knew he might be show up- in fact, Harry’d assured Louis he’d be there- but Louis knew from Twitter that Nick was due to rep Radio 1 at the Rihanna concert earlier in the evening. 

Nick rubs his palms together and grins at group before dropping down to sit on the couch on the other side of Harry. 

Louis can’t feel his fingers or his toes. He’s trying to smile, but the muscles in his cheeks won’t behave. He’s seen the way some of Harry’s fans react to meeting him, the screeches, the crying, the paralyzing wonder. 

Louis thought himself better than that, immune. But, turns out, he’s not. He’s eighteen inches away from Nick Grimshaw and he’s completely starstruck. 

Nick knocks into Harry’s shoulder and the cotton fabric of his shirt grazes the back of Louis’ hands. 

Neither he nor Harry seem to notice. No, Nick’s licking his lips and wrinkling his nose, “What are you drinking tonight, Harold? Something vile, I assume?” 

Harry glares at him and then takes a dramatic slurp of his bright blue cocktail. 

Nick grabs the drink out of Harry’s hands and tests it. If Nick were any other person in the world, Louis would be rankled (with admittedly unfounded jealousy), griping about respect and boundaries. But Nick is _Nick_. And Louis has had a crush on him for _years._ And he’s _right_ here. He’s all but _touching_ Louis. 

“I’m so glad you came,” Harry says, grabbing his drink back. “I really wanted you to meet my friend, Louis. I think the two of you will really get on well.” He leans back so that Nick can reach an arm across him to shake Louis’ hand, which lays limply at his side. 

Somehow, Louis manages to raise the heavy limb and Nick’s touch sends an electric jolt through his body, reviving him. 

Finally, he smiles, pulling the arm he’d draped over Harry’s shoulders into his lap so he can lean forward and take Nick in more fully. “Hello, Nick Grimshaw.” 

His voice is clear and light, a contrast to the stampede of puppies racing around in his chest where his heart should be. 

“Hello, Harry’s friend Louis. Are you to blame for this?” He gestures to Harry drink. 

Now, Louis _likes_ sweet cocktails (and believes that everyone who says _they_ don’t is lying), but it’s _Nick Grimshaw_ , so he says, “No way, mate. Scotch tonight for me.” 

He nods to the expensive bottle of it sat in the middle of their table. 

Nick makes another face. “That’s even more vile. What happened to the simpler times of gin martinis and vodka tonics?” 

Louis shrugs. “Maybe you’re too old for this kind of clubbing.” 

Harry laughs, way too loud for the lame arc and fall of Louis’ little joke. Harry’s whole body shakes with the sound of it, and he slaps Louis’ knee a couple of times as his chortles die down. 

His hand remains on Louis’ thigh, as he turns to Nick and says, “I told you, you’d like him.” 

Nick pouts. “I do not like him. He’s as rude as you are and, apparently, with as poor a taste in liquor.” But Louis can see the corner of Nick’s mouth twitching up and those puppies in Louis’ chest begin to bark with excitement. 

“And, yet, here you are, stuck with us, instead of hanging with Rihanna. I wonder why _that_ is.” Louis doesn’t look at Nick as he delivers the quip, leaning forward to pour himself another couple fingers of scotch. 

Harry laughs again, his fingertips digging into Louis’ muscle. 

“I notice you two didn’t even have tickets to the show,” Nick returns. His eyes are glittering and Louis can’t look away. 

“Not all of us are handsome radio DJs.” Louis swirls the brown liquid around in his glass. 

Nick says, “Handsome?” and Harry chokes. 

“Or maybe, distinguished? That’s what we call old men, right?” 

Harry’s grip tightens, his nails biting through the fabric of Louis’ trousers and into his skin. 

“Have you got a crush on me?” Nick wiggles his eyebrows. The light of the club is low, but Louis swears he glimpses a flush blooming across his cheeks. 

Harry coughs again, a few rough hacks, and Louis pats his arm absently, without taking his eyes off Nick’s face. 

Nick inclines his head. He really expects Louis to answer his question, then. Louis rolls his eyes. “Yes, okay. I had a huge crush on you. In school.” 

“In school?” Nick presses. Christ, is he really that compliment hungry? Or, maybe, Louis thinks, with another trip and yelp of those damn puppies, he likes watching Louis squirm. 

“Yeah. In school.” He draws a breath. “You want the whole embarrassing truth of it?” Nick shakes his head, but Louis’ on a roll. If he’s going to be embarrassed, might as well own the humor in it for himself. “I used to skip the first hour of school several times a week because I wasn’t ready to turn you off. Failed the one of my courses. But I couldn’t very well confess _why,_ so I told my mum it was because I wasn’t sleeping well, that I’d doze off in my car. She made me go to all these specialists to help cope with my insomnia, but I didn’t have _insomnia_. I just liked listening to your stories, especially the ones about Pig.” 

Nick’s face flips into soft half-smile and he says. “That’s cute.” 

Harry coughs. Again. Louis frowns at him and he looks, wide-eyed, straight back, fist over mouth. 

“I had a favorite DJ, too, when I was a kid,” Nick says interrupting their staring contest and recapturing Louis’ attention. “It’s one of the reasons I wanted to go into radio. I felt so connected to him. Loved hearing updates on his life and knowing exactly what kinds of things he thought were funny. It’s like we were friends, even though we’d never met. There’s something intimate about voices, you know?” 

_“Exactly_ ,” Louis replies. “From everything you shared, I felt like _we_ had so much in common, too. So.” He lets the thought hang. Maybe it’s creepy.

It’s probably creepy. 

Except Nick picks it right up. “Like what? Clearly not taste in alcohol.” 

And, _oh boy_ , Nick does not realize the pit he’s diving into, but Louis opens up to let him in anyway, launching into a list of musicians they both enjoy and celebrities they can’t stand and weird pet peeves they just happen to share. 

Nick laughs a lot, peppering Louis’ stories with his own. 

Harry goes quiet except for the occasional choked cough. Actually, Louis almost forgets that Harry’s even there between them, except that the pressure of his fingers on Louis’ thigh does not let up. 

Nick’s just suggested Louis join him sometime at a place that serves the best chips in the city (really greasy chips being a mutual favourite), when Harry breaks his silence to say, loud and abrupt, “I don’t feel well.” 

Both Louis and Nick turn to look at him. He doesn’t _look_ poorly. Aside from the coughing and the quiet, he seems fine. 

Harry touches his stomach. “Maybe it’s something I ate.”

Louis places his palm over Harry’s forehead. Sweaty, but not particularly warm. “No fever. Are you nauseous?”

Harry avoids Louis’ gaze, nodding. “Long day in the studio, you know?” 

Louis does not know what that has to do with a stomach ache or with nausea.

He considers Harry a moment longer. “Want me to call a cab to take you home?” 

Harry nods and then chews his lip for a moment before adding, “And, um, maybe you could come back, too? Make sure I’m alright?” 

Nick groans. “A baby.” To which, Louis snaps, “He doesn’t feel well.” 

~

Harry’s glaring out the window of the cab and Louis wonders just how poorly he actually _is_. 

“Maybe we should call someone.” Louis certainly isn’t equipped to handle serious illness. He doubts the cab driver is either. 

Harry shakes his head and then bites his lip. After a moment, he adds, “Feeling a little better now.” 

“You _look_ worse,” Louis says because he _does_. The lines on his forehead have deepened and his face glows pale in the moonlight. 

Harry rubs at his eye. He’s exhausted, too, Louis realizes, suddenly noticing the dark pits at the top of his cheeks. “It’s been a long day and the noise and the lights in the club… it was too much.” 

Louis laces their fingers together and Harry smiles at him, a soft, tired tilt of his lips, but happy all the same. He rubs his thumb in small, slow circles over the back of Harry’s hand. 

“I’m glad we went out, though,” Louis says. Just the thought of Harry wanting Louis to meet his hip friends sends another thrill of delight down Louis’ spine. 

Harry nods and then leans his head onto Louis’ shoulder. “Thank you for coming. I think a lot of those guys thought I’d been making you up.” 

Louis chuckled. “I can see Nick really harassing you about that, yeah.” 

Harry tenses and does not reply. 

Louis wonders if maybe he’s got a migraine and unlaces their fingers so he can bring his hand to the base of Harry’s neck. As he begins to massage with a careful, rhythmic presses, he says, “Nick’s really cool. You always wonder if your idols will let you down, you know? But, like, he’s exactly like I thought he’d be. Which is _amazing_.” 

Harry whimpers and Louis stills. “That doesn’t feel good?” 

Harry reaches up to put a hand on either side of Louis’ head and pulls him in for a kiss. The movement is sudden and the press of Harry’s lips hard. Louis startles, frozen for a moment before he’s able to return the kiss. 

Harry doesn’t let up either, plying Louis’ lips apart with tip of his tongue and sliding his fingers back into Louis’ hair, nails scraping against Louis’ scalp. Louis gasps into Harry’s mouth, angling his body closer, running his hands up and down Harry’s back. 

Harry drags a wet kiss across Louis’ cheek and, into Louis’ ear, groans, “Fuck. I want you so bad. I wanted to do this since you climbed into the cab with me _before_ the club wearing these tight trousers. Do you even _know_ what you do to me?” 

One of Harry’s hands falls into Louis’ lap and he squeezes Louis’ half-hard cock.

Louis’ head falls back against the seat and he groans. “I thought you weren’t feeling well.” 

Lips lower now, on Louis’ throat, Harry says, “Better now that we’re alone. I told you.” 

Louis smiles. Harry’s insatiable libido is legendary among his fans and they’re really not far from the truth. 

“Well,” he squeezes Harry’s bicep, “Let’s not be too rude to the driver.” 

Harry doesn’t seem to hear him, though, because he’s recapturing Louis’ mouth in another rough kiss. Louis doesn’t mind, not really. With Harry so busy these days, he’ll take all the kisses he can get. 

When Harry breaks the kiss, he dives straight back in for a quick peck and then another. Finally, he breathes, “You’re right. I hate being rude.” 

It might be true. He doesn’t kiss Louis again. But his hand remains cupped over Louis’ crotch for the remainder of the ride, push-pulling just a little with each turn and pressing in with each jostling bump in the road. 

By the time they arrive at Harry’s flat, Louis’ hard enough to be nearly desperate and even in the shadowy backseat of the cab Louis can see from the bulge in his jeans that Harry’s not doing much better. 

They climb out of the cab and run, as best as they can given the circumstances, into the building and up the stairs. Louis stands, pressed tight to Harry’s back, purposefully pushing his crotch against him, as Harry fumbles with the lock. 

Louis means to have him against the door as soon as they’re inside- his cock’s been throbbing painfully for ages now- but Harry’s too quick for him, darting down the hall and into his bedroom before Louis can catch him. 

Louis stalks after him, his shoes clacking against the hardwood floor. By the time he walks into the room, Harry’s naked and squirting lube into his palm. 

“Are you moving quickly or am I moving slowly?” Louis asks, pulling his t-shirt over his head. When his face reemerges Harry’s on the bed, clambering onto his his hands and knees. 

Over his shoulder, he says, “Do you want to fuck me?” 

Louis does, of course, but he doesn’t answer straight away. Instead, he removes his shoes and socks and trousers. While he works, Harry sits back on his haunches, eyes hot, mouth tight. 

Louis walks over to the bed, sits down beside Harry and kisses him, closed mouth, but lingering. Harry’s breath stutters out as Louis pulls back. 

“You want me to fuck _you_?” Louis clarifies. “I thought you weren’t feeling well.” He tries not to get ahead of himself, to be mindful of both of their limits, but his cock twitches in anticipation, anyway. 

He’s never known Harry to back down from an offer like this. 

Harry nods. “Please.”

His voice barely carries over the few inches between. He’s biting his lip and tilting his chin, wearing the uncertainty, the smallness, that _Louis_ so often feels beside _him_. 

The reversal unsettles Louis, so he pushes, “You don’t want…” 

Harry blinks at him, waiting. 

“Okay, I’ll fuck you.” 

A smile blossoms on Harry’s face. It reaches his eyes and Louis realizes that this is the first smile he’s managed in hours, maybe since Nick arrived at the club. 

Harry’s the one who leans in now, and his is an open kiss, deep, drawing Louis closer with his tongue. When their mouths slip apart, Louis’ hands are in Harry’s hair. 

“Do you want me to prep you first?” Louis asks.

Harry shakes his head. “I want you watch _me_ do it.” 

Louis strips off his pants, gaze mostly on Harry as he arranges the scene on the bed for ease and comfort, moving pillows and blankets, setting the lube in just the right spot. Louis’ sat on his haunches beside him when Harry presses out a new dollop of lube to his finger. 

He shoots Louis a wink, as he climbs onto his hands and knees. He arches his back as he slides the first finger in, inch by careful inch, inside. 

Louis swallows, hand absently moving to clutch his twitching cock. Harry’s eyes catch on the motion and light up. “Yeah,” he says. “Hold yourself, just like that.” 

Louis doesn’t know how Harry’s able to pay attention to anything other than the pressure of his finger, doesn’t know how he can be thinking of Louis’ hand or Louis’ cock when he’s slipping a second long finger in beside the first. 

Louis’ cock twitches again, when Harry’s fingers begin to thrust. He’s already imagining how tight Harry will be, how hot. 

Voice raw, Harry murmurs, “Slick yourself up.” 

Louis obeys, reaching for the lube and lathering himself up. The glide and press of his palm should be exciting, should send thrills of pleasure down his spine- this is how he gets off most often, of course- but all his senses are tuned into the smooth _in and out and in and out_ of Harry’s fingers. 

Then, suddenly, they’re out and this time they don’t slip back in. 

“I’m ready,” Harry says. 

“You should do another finger,” Louis tells him. “Or let me.” 

“No, I’m loose enough,” he says. “I _promise_.” 

Louis inhales the hot air of the bedroom, the scent of Harry’s laundry soap mingling with the scent of their skin, liquor and sex and sweat. 

He lines up behind Harry, pressing three kisses at the base of his spine before moving more fully into place. His cock smacks gently against Harry’s thigh and, _fuck,_ but he wants this. 

Louis guides himself in, eyes closing at the pressure. Harry’s tight, tighter than he expects or remembers. A thought tugs at the back of his consciousness: Harry’s not sleeping with other people. 

Louis _knows_ this. Harry promised to tell, they both did, for safety reasons. And yet, knowing it and _feeling it_ , those are two different things. 

“Louis,” Harry pants. It’s almost a growl. 

Louis remains as still as possible, allowing Harry to adjust to his girth. 

“It’s been _months,_ ” Harry moans. And it _has_. The last few times they’d actually fucked it’d been Louis who opened himself for Harry, not the other way around. “Fucking _move_.” 

In sex, as in all things, Louis’ helpless to Harry’s requests. He knows that Harry will be sore for hours, maybe days, if he isn’t slow and careful. But Harry knows that, too. He must. And still, he’s pressing further, hitching back his own hips, and saying, “Louis _please._ ” 

So Louis gives in, quickening his pace, deepening his thrusts. Within moments, he’s found the perfect rhythm, one that has Harry crying out softly with each push, one with exactly the right amount of friction to hook him round the middle and drag him toward his release. 

His hip stutter, though, before he reaches it because Harry’s started to chatter. 

“So good, Louis. This is all I want. All I _ever_ want. Oh _fuck_. You’re perfect. Fit me so well. Meet me exactly at the right _spots_. Fuck, yeah. _Louis_. You are-” He gasps, breath catching and words turning to whimpers mid-sentence.

Louis’ usually the loud one during sex, the one pouring out affirmation and affection. It’s disconcerting to hear the love words trickle out of Harry so easily, but in an electrifying way, as though he’s murmuring each phrase against Louis’ already tightly sheathed dick. 

Harry’s next three words slide right in along with the rest, the heat and pressure of them just enough to tip Louis over the edge. “Louis. Please. Love.” 

Louis groans as he spills into Harry. “Yeah,” he breathes, hips stuttering as Harry flexes once and then twice around him, drawing the last drops of come out of Louis and into his ass. 

Louis rests a cheek onto the smooth, damp skin of Harry’s back. 

“Fuck,” he hisses out. 

Harry hums and it vibrates through him and into Louis. For a moment, Louis lets himself settle into the depth of their connection. 

Then, gingerly, Louis slips free of Harry’s ass, wet drops of come following him out to trickle down the inside of Harry’s thigh. 

Limbs orgasm heavy, Louis reaches around grip Harry’s cock. Softly, he says, “Your turn.” 

He talks now, beginning before Harry has the chance to start up again. “You’re incredible. I love you like this. All spread out for me. I think about it. All the time.” 

“You _can_ have me, you know,” Harry interrupts, voice cracking as Louis’ speeds up his hand. “Whenever you want, you can have me.” 

Harry’s hard and hot and Louis wants to believe that he means what he’s said. But it’s not true and Louis _aches_ because of it; he can’t help but tighten his grip. 

“Louis,” Harry murmurs. And then, softer and lower, “Lou.” 

Louis’ hand is wet with come and Harry’s whimpering again, his face all but buried in his pillows. Louis lays a row of kisses on him, a row spanning from one shoulder blade to the other. 

Finally, Harry relaxes. The heaving of his shoulders eases and Louis wonders what he’s thinking. Does he remember calling Louis, ‘love’? Louis’ said the ‘l’ word plenty of times, sure, but Harry hasn’t. Did he mean to do it? Does he regret it? 

Louis wants to ask and, when Harry rolls over to blink up at him, a sated smile bringing out his dimples, Louis _almost_ does, but decides against it. He doesn’t want to ruin the beauty of the moment. 

“I’m so glad you’re mine. You’re _mine_ ,” Harry murmurs, eyelids fluttering shut again.

Louis traces a finger over Harry’s cheeks and across the bridge of Harry’s nose. Harry doesn’t realize how true that statement is. Louis’ his, for better or for worse. 

**Author's Note:**

> [rebloggable masterpost here](http://juliusschmidt.tumblr.com/post/155731617755/harry-skyrockets-to-popstar-fame-through-his)


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